


Red

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Gatchaman Crowds
Genre: Depression, Hair, Healing, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Jou looks at his hair, he sees blood." Color is a matter of interpretation for Jou and Sugane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

When Jou looks at his hair, he sees blood.

It lurks underneath the dark green, lies against the back of his neck where he can feel it as if it’s glowing, as if the red is sticky with blood in actual fact instead of just in imagination. He never forgets about it, even when he ties his hair back to hide the color from everyone else’s eyes. It’s just a cover, as clean a facade as his own pretense of composure. With his hair back and his glasses on he looks clean, tidy,  _complete_ , but the reflection in the mirror isn’t enough to fool him. He doesn’t forget about the empty space he has instead of a life, he doesn’t forget about the shocking color brushing against his shoulders, curling into the back of his neck and under his skin like a stain.

For a long time he told himself he didn’t care. He tied his hair back when he had to be functional, and he left it down when he didn’t, and when nothing else mattered the markings whispering of his demons to the world didn’t matter either. But then he started to care again, slowly, tentatively, and the first time Sugane touched the back of his neck Jou nearly jerked away, as if the color was a stain, as if Sugane could catch indelible red on his fingertips and never be clean again.

Sugane must have felt him tense; there’s no way he could have missed the sudden awkward panic that stilled Jou’s hands at his hips, drew the other man’s spine stiff and strained. But he didn’t pull away, just kept sliding his hand up farther, threading his fingers into the shadows, and when Jou shut his eyes he couldn’t tell if the heat was from his hair or from Sugane’s touch. It was easier to relax, after that, and by the time Sugane was whimpering breathless variations on Jou’s name against his mouth he’d forgotten why he was panicked in the first place.

It’s easier with Sugane, as so much is easier with Sugane. The second time Jou doesn’t tense at all, just shuts his eyes and lets the flutter of contact pour comfort into his skin directly. After that Sugane doesn’t hesitate to trail his fingers up against the back of Jou’s neck, or to tuck his head in against Jou’s shoulder so he can breathe against that telltale color, and Jou stops tying his hair up entirely, lets the red spill across his skin and over his shoulders like the badge of pride it is.

Because when Sugane looks at his hair, he says he sees phoenix fire.


End file.
